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HEAVEN’S RAINBOW #5
IN THE CLOSING CREDITS FOR AMISTAD
It was probably the hardest acting job they would ever
undergo. A huge cast, both men and women, had to play the parts of slaves
being shipped to America for the Steven Spielberg film, Amistad. And the
lead role, that of a character named Cinqué, was played by a relative
newcomer from West Africa named Djimon Hounsou. Other actors in the film
knew how to rise above emotions, knew how to separate film from reality
– but what a challenge for this novice performer!
In fact, all of the actors and actresses struggled with the MEANING of
what they were being asked to film. There were scenes where they had to
be shackled, stripped, beaten. You’ve seen those disclaimers: “No animals
were harmed in the making of this picture.” And from a physical point
of view, for these humans, that was true here too . . . but emotionally,
it was another story. To feel those cold iron shackles being put on your
ankles was a sobering, wrenching experience, even for professional performers.
To have many actors chained together and then drowned by attaching huge
boulders to the chains and simply throwing 20, 30, 40 human beings over
the side of a ship reminded these men and women what the REAL slaves had
been through.
I suppose all of us can understand one Spielberg rule, one policy, that
was adhered to on the set of Amistad. When it came time to put those shackles
on the actors, time to film the most wrenching scenes, only black crew
members were called on to do the job. Because reality somehow inserted
itself into the make-believe, celluloid world of film – and to have white
stage hands slapping those shackles on, no matter how sensitively they
did it – was just too close to the fact of how it had happened the first
time around.
That novice actor, Djimon Hounsou, told reporters later:
“It took amazing stamina to film those scenes. It was
hard not to cry, and so many of the others DID cry, which made us all
shed tears. Because you knew this was what my people went through.”
I shared just the tiniest bit of a story from the landmark
book, Black Like Me, where white author John Howard Griffin made his skin
black and then traveled the Deep South in the late 1950s. And of course,
he immediately felt the so-called “hate stare,” where white people would
just fix their eyes on him with a cold, angry look that never eased. But
at the same time, he immediately felt the bond, where fellow blacks would
give him a look of connection: “Hang in there.” Immediately he was “brother.”
“There’s a restroom three blocks down, brother, that you can use. Hang
on; I’ll hike over there with you.” A “brother, ” just a young black kid,
would walk with him two miles to show him where a theater allowing blacks
to attend was located. “I can come back for you when the show is over,”
the boy offered. And Griffin protested: no way! “It’s no trouble,” he
was told. “I don’t mind.” And the underlying reality was that you did
this for your brother. The expression “my people” was very, very real.
You connected with people whose hardships were the same as your own.
Well, you know, we’ve talked for two weeks now here on the radio about
understanding each other. About the fact that we are ALL brothers and
sisters. But that doesn’t erase the plain fact that I can’t always know
what another person’s hard experience has been. Steven Spielberg didn’t
call me up and have me put those shackles on Djimon Hounsou . . . because
he knows, and I know, that I’m not qualified to feel the reality of slavery,
the realness of those shackles.
But after these two weeks of study on human relations, and on brotherhood,
and on reaching out to someone whose SAT scores might be very different
from your own . . . maybe it would be well to return to the greatest test
case of all. Which would certainly be Jesus.
Over in Matthew chapter one, right at the point where Jesus is going to
be born and invade this world, already scarred by its hatred and its nationalism
and its racism and all its other “isms,” we find this verse:
“The virgin will be with child and will give birth
to a Son, and they will call Him Immanuel – which means ‘God WITH us.”
And those three words, “God with us,” are such a fitting,
crowning truth as we finish this topic. Because this Jesus Christ came
down here, and was born into OUR race: the human race. He was born with
OUR skin, with OUR hurts, with OUR problems. He got hungry and tired and
sleepy. He experienced loneliness. If you live in the ghetto, He did too.
If you’ve experienced hatred and prejudice, He did too. If you’ve heard
the taunts because you’re the son of an unwed mother, He did too. Jesus
never shielded Himself from the experience of the least among us. Hebrews
says He was made like us “in every way.”
So listen – when He beckons to me or to you, and says, “Look, brother,
I know where you can receive help. I know where you can be loved and accepted”
– that word “brother” is real. He IS our elder brother: not just because
He and we have the same loving Father, but because He came down here to
BE a brother.
But you know, here’s another point to think about as we close. I mentioned
yesterday that when you’re in a family, and someone struggles with a gap
in some talent or ability or aptitude, you don’t look around for blame
and for scapegoats. You pull together. Each one lifts up the other; you
determine that your strength will cover for their weakness and vice versa.
But think about Jesus. He came down here, and was born in a manger. He
was born into a rottener family than many of us can imagine. He was educated
in the bad school in the bad neighborhood, long before busing was invented
by Washington bureaucrats.
And yet, don’t ever forget that inside where it counted, Jesus Christ
was still God. Still perfect. Still holy. Still divine. In terms of SAT
scores, Jesus looked around Him, knowing that He was a perfect 1600 –
and all of us were schlepping along at 950. He was the favored One of
God; He was pure, the divine Lamb. And we were sinners. He had the good
test scores, while you and I and the other six billion of us are all failing
students.
And yet . . . and yet . . . He still loves us! He still does! He still
accepts us! He still seeks to bring us along with Him to His eternal kingdom!
The host of our Sunday program, Pastor Morris Venden, wonders aloud what
would have happened if HE had had the hardship and misfortune to be the
leader tramping around Galilee with 12 disciples as stupid and selfish
as the tribe Jesus picked out. These guys were losers! They couldn’t retain
anything He taught them for 24 hours. They all belonged in Special Ed,
while only Jesus was a straight 4.0 student in His Father’s university.
And Venden confesses: “If I’D been in charge, I’d have told those disciples,
‘Get out of my sight, you miserable twelve! Give me another twelve to
start over with!’” But Jesus didn’t do that. Despite the mistakes and
shortcomings, despite their faults and failures, He stayed with His underachieving
brothers. In fact, He calls them brothers; He calls them friends. I love
John 15:15, where He looks around at these low-SAT-scoring dummies and
says very kindly:
“I no longer call you servants, because a servant does
not know his master’s business. Instead, I have called you friends, for
everything that I learned from My Father I have made known to you.”
And friend, this is our model! As Jesus, who is so
advantaged in every way, loves and accepts and nurtures us, so should
all of us in the human family deal with one another. This is the role
of the Church and of every believer IN the Church.
We mentioned a cover article in Newsweek: “God Vs. Gangs: What’s the Hottest
Idea in Crime Fighting? The Power of Religion.” And inside, this marvelous
article has a subtitle: “The New Holy War.” “Faith-based solutions,” as
Kenneth Woodward calls them. Story after story, miracle after miracle,
where churches and people in those churches relate to others with the
eyes of Jesus. Battling racism because Jesus did. Helping the hurting
because Jesus did. Loving their neighbors – all their neighbors – because
that’s how the parables of Jesus and the very life of Jesus always ended
up. It doesn’t matter what color you are: when you get to “Baker House,”
just one of the havens in this article, you’ll be a “brother” or a “sister”
there.
Well, friend, that’s how the Good Samaritan story is being played out
here in the 21st century. And of course, you know how that parable in
Luke chapter ten ends up: with just these five words:
“Go thou and do likewise.”
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